Alabama On My Own

DAY 1:  So, the trip began by sitting in the Champaign Train Station waiting on The City of New Orleans train, which was one hour late. Luckily (not) those of us waiting were able to listen to a man who had been to every country in the world, done every job in the world, taught every subject in the world. He was so worldly that he condemned anyone different from what his church thought was acceptable. Fun.

The train was great. I slept from Champaign to Memphis. I woke up at 6 am to the lovely sounds of the Tennessee drawl. Once the train was filled to the brim with Memphis folks, the trip really began.

For those of you who aren't in southern Louisiana or Alabama, this is Mardi Gras season. Which means for the past few weeks up until this Tuesday, there are parades, beads and some serious partying going down. On The City of New Orleans, they start serving booze at 6 am.

Across the aisle from me were Jimi and Buddy. They weren't traveling together, but they both got on at Memphis. We formed a fast friendship and they proved to be fabulous fun. Jimi is a divorcee in her mid-fifties who goes down to her sister's every Mardi Gras. She just started dating an older English guy. However, not even new love comes between Jimi and Mardi Gras, so he was left in Memphis to sulk.

Buddy was also in his mid-fifties with dyed black longish hair. His goatee was also dyed black. He wore Elvis Costello glasses. Buddy's real name is Josh, I think, and he used to be in the music business. He goes down to Mardi Gras every year to visit with friends and often goes to Crewe parties. (Note: If you don't know what Mardi Gras Crewes are, google it). However, he was surprised to learn he had been invited to one of the balls this year, which is quite an honor. He had to bring a tux.

Jimi, Buddy and I ate lunch together in the dining car and had a great time. We had the military guys sitting across from us take a picture of us three with Jimi's iPhone. It took 15 minutes for the three of us old farts to figure out how to type in our emails for Jimi to send the pic to us. It still hasn't shown up in my inbox.

The rest of the trip was spent with the "Upper Deck Caboose" folks, as we called ourselves, partying and having a great time. One guy, who brought his own flask, started calling me Lincoln because my birthday was on Lincoln's birthday. The "Saints-T-shirt guy's" wife took a picture of me and this other friend who's birthday was yesterday.

"Hey, Lincoln, get over here! We are taking pictures of the birthday girls!" I would love to post the pic she took with my phone, however, she cut off our heads. "Saints-T-Shirt guy's" wife had been drinking since Memphis.

At the recommendation of the guy who served me my coffee in the lounge car, I had Larry and Mom meet me in Hammond, LA instead of New Orleans. It was a much easier pick-up for them. However, the Upper Deck folks didn't like that very much. "Lincoln, where are you going?" "Hey, get back here! Wait, you aren't supposed to get off until New Orleans!"

After arriving in Gulf Shores, we went to Lulu's for dinner. Lulu's is a Gulf Shores classic which is owned by Jimmy Buffet's sister, Lucy. Great food, great atmosphere, great booze. We had L.A. (Lower Alabama) caviar and fried green tomatoes for starters and, at Mom's recommendation, I had the Mahi Mahi tacos. Absolutely scrumptious! I ate way too much and had to spend the rest of the evening laying around in my pajamas.

DAYS 2-3:

Tonya: "Hi, my name is Tonya and I'm a shell-a-holic."

All the other addicts: "Hi, Tonya."

During our trip to Gulf Shores last year, I enjoyed walking on the beach collecting shells. I tried to spend every free moment on this trip on the beach with my neck craned down, shuffling along. However, it wasn't until Thursday that the depths of my problem became clear to myself, my mom and Larry and these two old dudes on the beach.

Thursday morning was foggy, rainy, windy and 37 degrees. The entire southern half of Alabama and Louisiana closed schools and county offices for the next day because there was a chance of snow. As my mom would go out on the balcony to smoke, she would bundle herself up like we were in the Arctic and would still be cursing when she came back in. I, however, was getting ready to go look for shells.

The shelling was good but the most exciting part was that I got to see a stingray that had washed up dead on the beach. After seeing the stingray, I found myself mumbling, "See, that's what you get. People who don't come out on the beach in the rain and cold don't get to see dead stingrays. Stupid, stupid people." Of course, as I was saying that, I was shuffling around the beach, in the rain, with jeans that were sopping wet and, therefore, sliding down my butt. To top off the look, I was wearing my mom's turquoise jacket with the hood up and cinched tight. Good, good look for anyone.

That was yesterday. I knew today was going to be a perfect day for shelling because it was going to be sunny and warmer. During my first cup of coffee, I was looking out over the beach and noticed a figure, hunched over right around an area where I found some good shells the day before.

"Larry, look at that! That bastard is trying to get my shells!"

Within 5 minutes I was out there getting back at it. I was moving past these two old dudes who were fishing on the shore. When you are walking slowly on the beach with a plastic bag in your hand, every person you see says something profound to you like, "Did you find any shells?", or "Any good ones?". These guys started in and I quickly turned the conversation back to their fishing. They were complaining about nothing biting and I said, "Yesterday morning I saw a stingray washed up here." I was just trying to give the pathetic old men a little hope. You know their wives left them there to fish while they went shopping. I just thought I'd help keep their spirits up.

They promptly responded with, "You were on the beach yesterday morning??? Why?? The weather was shit."

I started to fire back something about how I was looking for shells and got some really great ones and got to see a dead stingray, but then I looked down at myself with my sandy yoga pants, ugly lime green sweatshirt and dorky red "Billy's Seafood" visor and couldn't say anything.